That word carried too much weight—so much so that Yu Xian had almost never heard such an expression used in real life.
"Old Yu, do you think..."
Shi Zuozhou had heavy dark circles under his eyes, looking as if he hadn’t slept a wink all night. "Could it be that Old Gao was forced to cast a dissenting vote, and felt so guilty about betraying his lifelong career and human science that he left those words?"
Yu Xian shook his head. "I don’t think so. This isn’t the first time they’ve voted on this. Even if it didn’t pass, things would just stay the way they are, right?"
Although they hadn’t even enrolled in the university back then, rumor had it that after the Science and Technology Commission rejected the proposals the previous few times, Old Gao had been a bit despondent. Still, he had carried on teaching classes, picking up his granddaughter, and tending to his flowers.
When they were reading "Three-Body" in the past, Yu Xian had discussed a scenario with Xia Li: if the professors in their department ever encountered a "Sophon," would they choose to commit suicide directly just because their experiments failed and "physics no longer existed"?
At the time, Yu Xian felt that while physics was undoubtedly a lifelong pursuit, these professors were still living, breathing people. Besides their careers, they had their own families and hobbies. He had told Xia Li with a nonchalant look on his face, "Physics might no longer exist, but it’s not like I caused it, nor does it only affect me. If physics doesn’t exist, can’t I just go do something else?"
Xia Li had laughed and said Yu Xian’s level of thinking wasn’t high enough, but she ultimately failed to change his mind.
Shi Zuozhou fell silent for a moment. As if refusing to let go of the "forced suicide" theory, he asked again, "Then could it be that he was afraid of implicating his family..."
Yu Xian looked at a distant plane tree swaying in the rain, pondering the possibility. Who could an old professor possibly offend just by pushing forward a scientific research project—so much so that it would bring disaster upon his family even after his suicide?
What was even more unreasonable was this. "If his was the deciding vote, and he was desperately forced to vote against it, then committed suicide out of fear of implicating his family, there might be some possibility of that. But the truth is, the vote passed this time by a landslide of nine to two."
If someone was trying to make an example out of him, what about the other nine affirmative votes? Even if Old Gao’s vote was the dissenting one, the project was still launched. When it came to building the collider, whether Old Gao supported or opposed it seemed completely inconsequential anyway.
"I guess you’re right..." Shi Zuozhou fell silent.
The wind whipped the drizzle against their faces, wet and cold.
Yu Xian felt a chill run through his body. No matter how he thought about it, he couldn’t make sense of it. "What I understand the least is, since they were his dying words, why didn’t he leave more information? If he was really forced, wouldn’t it have been better to just plainly write, ’I am being forced by so-and-so’?"
His older cousin hadn’t denied it was a suicide, which meant that Old Gao did have his personal freedom before his death. Then, if he had the time to write down that single sentence, wouldn’t it have been much more useful to jot down a name or a more specific reason, rather than speaking in such riddles?
Based on Yu Xian’s understanding of JCU professors, none of them were the type to play with riddles. They could explain the most profound research topics clearly; what could be so difficult to state plainly?
Shi Zuozhou shrank his neck. "Could it be that the reason was too terrifying? So terrifying that he didn’t even dare to write it down?"
Yu Xian didn’t respond, merely shaking his head.
Too terrifying to write down? For an old man who had dedicated his entire life to science and firmly believed in materialism, he didn’t even fear death. What else could be more unspeakable?
He gripped the railing; the metal was cold, wet, and slippery. None of their current guesses held up logically.
Was it "repentance"? To him, this dying message felt like the words of someone who believed they had done something irrevocably wrong, dragging everyone else down with them. But what exactly could it be? Besides that, there seemed to be something else unusual as well.
"Old Shi—"
Just as he was about to speak, the class bell echoed through the walls.
Shi Zuozhou glanced back. "Let’s go. We should get to class first."
Yu Xian offered a grunt of agreement and followed behind him. The two of them hunched over, scurried down the aisle, and slipped back into their corner seats.